


Snowed In

by SuedeScripture



Series: Short Pinto Prompts [9]
Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuedeScripture/pseuds/SuedeScripture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic prompt: Pinto stuck somewhere (literally or less literally, w/e) and going stir-crazy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowed In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jouissant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/gifts).



"This is lame."

Zach glances up from the book to see Chris with folded arms underneath the blanket clutched around his shoulders, staring out the window and pouting like a five year old. He idly glances at his watch and lifts a surprised half-shaven eyebrow. It took five hours. Zach had figured he’d only last three before he started bitching.

A bluster of wind blows the still falling snow hard against the cabin walls, making Chris huff another frustrated sigh.

Why they’d been put up in this out of the way little ranch resort outside of Vancouver rather than in a modern hotel in it, Zach didn’t want to ask. Budget issues were what they were, and granted it seemed like a nice enough place, at least until the weather moved in and then sat its ass down for a sabbatical. The plows apparently didn’t bother coming up this far for a while, making it impossible to actually traverse down to the studio to work. He hopes somebody down at Paramount is frantic for their sakes, but hey, he isn’t playing producer on this. Maybe he should have. Or not. He can’t decide.

"It’s up to the freaking second pane already!" Chris grumbles, gesturing at where the snow is, in fact, piled nearly five feet high against the side of Zach’s cabin. Chris had made the mistake of trudging through it over from his own when it was only about two deep, early this morning and he’d been excited and gleefully sang _Do You Wanna Build A Snowman_ outside Zach’s door, subbing in Spock where necessary. Their stubby snowman couldn’t be seen anymore, the top of his head long buried. The remains of a checkers game lies on the table. Zach is reading the book Chris had put down halfway through.

"I hate this! It’s too fucking cold."

"Cali boy," Zach says affectionately. The old fashioned radiator rumbles happily against the wall. This place has an old 80’s sort of vintage that reminds Zach of childhood at Nona’s homestead back in Pennsylvania.

"Shut up," Chris snaps. "I’m cold. I’m hungry. You know how I get when I’m hungry. What if we can’t get food?"

Rolling his eyes, Zach goes to his bag and pulls out a box of strawberry toaster strudels. Two movies and press tours down and he knows to have Emergency Christopher Rations on hand at any time they have to work in close quarters, as bitchy as the little princess gets about it. Zach knows the way to his heart can be circumvented from the hoighty-toighty burrata, organic heirloom veggies and handmade pasta through a little pathway to his childhood soul for trashy processed pastry. No toaster necessary.

Chris fails to catch the box tossed at him, hands entangled in his flannel blankie, but as he rises from picking it up from the floor, those eyes are positively luminous and adoring. “I fucking love you, man.”

Zach’s mouth twitches as he settles back into the old sofa, picking the book back up. He knows. 

Chris flaps over to snuggle up at his side, ripping open a packet with a moan and lays his head on Zach’s shoulder as he chews, watching the snow outside continue to fall.


End file.
